Memoirs
by DeiasuShaneru
Summary: AU- Returning to Storybrooke after the Vietnam War was one thing. Letting go of the woman he loved, however, was an entirely different problem. Still, he waits for her. Hoping that she would come back to him. And she did.


**Please bear in mind that this story is loosely based off of "The Notebook" and that I do not intended to plagiarise the wonderful Nicholas Spark's work in any way. Thank you for reading!**

**ALSO: **_**Present Gold**_**- Picture Dr. Nicholas Rush but with whiter hair and beard. **_**Past Gold- **_**Picture Gazz from the "Full Monty." **

_**Chapter 1**_

I stare at the rising sun. The warmth of it, like the day before yesterday, and the day before that, and so on and so on, doing nothing to sooth my frigid heart as it pumps steadily inside. For within me lies the emptiness of a hopeless soul ensconced within this shell of a powerful man as he watches the sunrise, day in and day out, waiting and praying for a miracle.

Was such a thing even possible?

Scoffing, I look down at the rigidity floorboards of my mansion. Make no mistake. It _was_ the largest house in Storybrooke ever built. An investment I had taken care of to renovate long ago with the purposeful hope of reaching out to her, that _she_ would be the one to see what I've done in her honor, and to my sweet relief- and disbelief- it had worked, for I was sure that I'd never see her again. But she came back. Back to _me. Why? _

A quiet knock echoes from inside the front door's entrance and in walks Lacey- our youngest daughter. Looking up I smile at her. A tender, loving gesture I reserve only for my children and wife, and she returns it, embracing me as I turn to greet her. "Hey, Daddy." she whispers into my white hair, and I grin, for she is the only child amongst her siblings who was honest enough to label me still with that particular namesake, but I welcomed it nonetheless.

"Hello, sweetheart." I reply, just as quietly, my voice ruggedly gruff as I kiss her forehead, knowing that she didn't mind the scratchy feel of my unshaven chin.

After hugging her for a moment longer I pull away, studying her. At twenty-two and beautifully confident, Lacey was the younger replica of her mother, except she had my hair. Well, a lighter version of it anyway. And thanks to her mother's angelic looks, she was positively stunning, both inside and out. All our children were, although Richard bore the strongest resemblance of me with both looks and personality. But he did have his mother's dark hair and blue eyes.

Lacey grins, her blue eyes quickly averting down to the neatly wrapped little box behind me on the coffee table, and says, "Don't want to forget that."

Looking over my shoulder, I nod my head, agreeing with her. "You're right. I don't."

Turning around with a small grunt (at eighty-years old, everything you do is a strain within itself) I reach down and pick the small box up, containing one of my fewest and most cherished possessions. The other ones being my beloved wife and children. And even better, none of my broad seemed to mind having such an old grumpy fart as their father, especially when they were little rascals.

With gnarled fingers wrapped tightly around the golden handle of my cane, I clutch the box tightly against my expensive jacket. Why I always favored suits as regular dresswear still remained a mystery to my children, but Belle had adored it, said that it made the sophisticated man of me shine out more. For that reason I alone I continue on with the tradition. Okay, I'll be honest- it wasn't a positive choice for wear when I was younger. Much younger.

Carefully wrapping my neck around with a red scarf she had knit for me three Christmas's ago, Lacey beamed a smile full of white teeth, her eyes shining with adorable mirth. "You ready?" she asks, linking an arm around mine.

I nodded, confident that today would be the day I would win my beloved's memories back. "Let's go."

* * *

_**Forty-five years ago, 1969...**_

Rodrick stared at the beauty twirling amidst the wild fray of dancers, and for once in his life, someone finally had caught his uninterested interest. "Who's that?" Despite living in the states since birth he kept his Scottish brogue intact.

"Who?" Jefferson, his pariah of a friend since childhood, plucked out his cigarette and exhaled a short breath of smoke. The two of them lounging against the wall of the Town Hall, content on just watching the high-school graduates dance the night away in the bash at the center of it all. Why they were even there remained an absolutely mystery, considering that they were much more older than the seniors. By seventeen-years no less. But strangely enough, anybody was invited, which said a lot for Storybrooke, Maine's code of standards.

"That girl." Rodrick pointed out with his own cigarette to the mysterious smiling brunette skipping away out of the crowd from the other side of the room. The hem of her yellow sundress flowing behind her wake with every twirl that she made.

Confused Jefferson followed his friend's gaze, and narrowed his eyes. _"Her?"_

_"Jeffrey!"_ A shrill happy voice laughed, and the taller man waved happily at the blond teacher of a woman who'd called out to him. She shrieked even harder, blowing him a kiss before jumping and clapping to the classical beat the jazz band had provided for the rest of the student body.

"Yes, _her." _Rodrick intoned as his friend glanced at him, knowing that it was absolutely impossible for Jefferson to keep his eyes off of his high school crush of seventeen years, Alice Wonderland. "The girl dancing with Alice. Who is she?"

"Oh," Jefferson casually turned his head back to the wild fray, and chuckled, placing his cigarette back into his mouth. "Names Isabelle French; just moved into town with her father a couple of weeks ago. Guy's a damn florist," he scoffed with another chuckle and Rodrick knew why. Florists were cheap, and barely survived off not even a fourth of income from what both he and Jefferson inherited. It would've been natural of them to regard lowly of the poor... had they acquired the natural stingy attitudes from both their prudish fathers, which was still a shame that they hadn't. Not yet, at least.

And then it made Rodrick wonder. How had he not noticed this delicate piece of flower up until now while parading around town?

"Hmmm," he studied the laughing chit for a bit longer and Jefferson grinned, slyly.

"Best part is," he threw down his cigarette, smashing it under the bottom of his heel, "she's not even a high-school student."

He rolled his eyes. Of course Jefferson would dangle out that bit of bait. "Indeed." He had lost his virginity years ago. It was amazing at what money and a little bit of smooth talk could get you, and he was a mastermind at it. They both were. But he wasn't after the girl for sex. Sex was cheap. She seemed priceless.

Taking one last inhale of his cigarette, he flicked it into a nearby plant pot and started to make his way over after the band hit its last crescendo, the party-goers all clapping in their honor for such wonderful choice of music. Looking behind, he saw Jefferson make a mad dash off to the side for Alice, and grinned. Love.

The girl- Isabelle French was her name- looked up from her newly chattering friends as he approached them, and they immediately took a step back, recognizing the face of their most unwanted associate. Isabelle however, remained firmly in place, not once batting an eyelash. And the look of blankness she regarded him with gave off the initial impression that the gossip concerning around his abrasive family had been heard by her.

Who cared?

With a firm-mouth grin, he smoothly held out his hand to her. "Dance with me."

She glanced down at his palm, then back up to his face, her blue eyes untrusting. And God, what incredible eyes... "No."

He blinked. Regardless of his brash and uncaring behavior, nobody ever dared to deny him of anything. Still he smirked. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," she told him brusquely, immediately accepting the hand of a handsome senior boy from behind him as the band stoke up several new chords, the beginning of a ballad. He frowned. Okay, he thought. Two can play at this game.

On instinct, he quickly snatched the wrist of a young English teacher and pulled her close to him, not even bothering to spare her a glance as he pivoted their bodies towards the spinning brunette and her partner. If she thought she could just brush him off like that without so much as expecting rebuke then she was sorely mistaken. He'd have his dance with her.

Finally, when they were shoulder to shoulder, she tried her best to avoid his stare, and he grinned, his arm brushing against her. "You look lovely," he whispered over his shoulder, much to her partner's irritation. "Has anyone ever told you so tonight?"

"Several, actually." She then purposely whirled both her and her partner away, and Rodrick followed. "Please go away." She told him.

"Why?" There came a moment where the men had to dip their women to a musical drop, and he did so smoothly with his own. "I'm not hurting you."

"No, but you're beginning to annoy me," it was comically amusing- Jefferson had noticed- how they kept skirting around each other endlessly.

"I do that quite a lot, yet people are always surprise." Rodrick was beaming, but not at her. "How about a drink?"

"I have a shotgun," she warned, but the undertone of her voice was slightly playful, and he chuckled.

"Wouldn't be surprised."

And then, he did something incredibly unexpected.

Lashing out, he quickly pushed her partner of a turd away, not at all minding the various gasps from dancers and watchers alike as he grabbed her by the wrist.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, no-no-no-no!" But it was too late. He had her right where he wanted her- in his arms. Swirling them wildly to the fastened pace of the music. When he coyly grinned she glared up at him. "You're gonna pay for this," she told him darkly, his hand holding out hers parallel to their bodies.

By now Jefferson was laughing hard and Alice was confused, but they continued dancing nonetheless. Their eyes never once travelling away from the interesting pair that was Gold and French.

"Promises, promises." Rodrick murmured into her ear, and she gasped as he had them pick up the dance routine which, coincidentally, happened to be one of her favorites- the Lindy Hop. Surprisingly enough, the stranger she was partners with was very good at it too, their legs kicking and stepping in and out in synchronized harmony with the music. By now, everyone at the party was watching them.

"You dress very immodestly for such a occasion," she commented, taking in his casual dresswear of jeans, black pointy toe shoes, plain white shirt, and leather jacket. Many of the men she had already danced with had either worn decent suits or tuxedos.

"Your point?" He dipped her deeply, and she gasped.

"Just saying." She was quickly pulled back up, his grin absolutely radiant and contagious.

He tried for another turn of conversation. "Names Rodrick, by the way."

"Fascinating," she replied back sarcastically, which earned her a wild twirl.

"How old are you?" He just had to know.

Raising an eyebrow, she was ready to give him another sarcastic retort, but at his "give-me-anymore-of-this-balogne-nonsense-again-yo u-will-deeply-regret-it" look, she amused him for her own sake. "Twenty. Satisfied?"

At seeing she was the center of attention, Isabelle began to smile and Rodrick grinned. "What's your name?" He asks, already knowing but wanting to see if she'd allow him the pleasure of giving it freely.

He twirled her out, then twirled her back in. "Not telling," she breathed, and she laughed as he began pivoting them wildly.

"Try again, dearie."

"Why do you want to know so bad?" She tossed back her mane of curls, a gesture in which he enjoyed immensely.

"It's common courtesy," he retorted, and she snorted.

"Come on, even someone like you can do better than that, _dearie." _She gave him a bright smile, and his breath caught at the sheer stunning beauty she'd displayed due to such a angelic gesture. So blank did his mind go that he did not even realize that he was swirling them both so strongly that she tripped over her own heels and slid, taking him down with her. The both of them gasping as she landed right- incidentally- on top of him. the remaining dancers jumped back away from them.

Shocked, they stared down into each other's eyes. Isabelle's face flushing red with embarrassment at being in such a suggestive position, until finally- she began to giggle. The both of them did.

Two hours later found him walking her up to the porch of her house, and only then did she willingly- and happily- reveal her name to him.

* * *

_**Present day...**_

My daughter has kindly walked me to the hospital's entrance, knowing that- regardless of my well-stricken age- I would need the much helpful assistance. I am not the brash young fool that I once was; capable of walking on my own without the support of a cane. Had it been my way, I would have forgone using this stick even if I had breached a hundred. That's how stubborn I am. But I did need it. Not because of my age, but because of my injury. One that I had acquired so long ago in a war long-remembered...

"You should have shaved," my daughter tells me, but she is smiling. We stop in front of_ her _room, and the door closed. It's always closed.

I smile too. "Yes, I probably should've." It was pointless to argue that no matter how much I slash the raiser the white weeds would always come back with a vengeance. "Are you staying?"

With a sad shake of her head, Lacey said, "It's your voice she knows, not mine." And then the tears came before she could stop them, and she wipes them away quickly, sniffing as she does so. Giving me a small grin, she encourages, "Keep trying, Daddy. I have faith that you can bring her back, and give her my love and Happy Birthday wishes. From all of us."

Today my wife made sixty-five, an age where she'd never expected to be in the hospital due to a certain... illness.

I nod twice, biting my lower lip. "She still loves you, Lacey." I tell her gently. "You, Lucinda, Bae... a part of her still reaches out to all of us. She's not lost, merely waiting."

Giving a watery laugh, Lacey brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I hope so. Oh!" She reached into her navy blue cardigan and pulls out a thin leather volume, handing it over to me. "Wouldn't want you to forget this. She adores their story."

Looking down, I grasp the black book between my fingers. "Yes," I agreed, holding up the worn book, one that I had stared at for so many years I had lost track at counting. "She does."

**x~X~x**

**NOTE: If you'd like to see a video of Gold's dance with Belle, just look for "Marilyn Hotchkiss School of Ballroom Dancing" on YouTube.**

**Did you guys like it?**


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